


exodus

by azureforest



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Experimental Style, Gen, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sending Teenagers To War Is A Terrible Idea, Stream of Consciousness, Trans Male Character, mentions of the dawn brigade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 19:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18414554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azureforest/pseuds/azureforest
Summary: (see the burning bush, part the red sea, lead the exodus, boy, loud and proud.)edward sometimes doesn’t remember how he gets home. that's okay. at least, he thinks it is.





	exodus

**Author's Note:**

> vent fic.
> 
> if the first half reads oddly, thats on me- i originally formatted this on gdocs mobile, and im not sure if it carried over to ao3 well. i tried to space it like i would my own thoughts, if that makes sense?
> 
> warnings for gore (i really mean it), physical violence towards corpses and one passing mention of misgendering- please tread with care!

blood turned to ash on his tongue. bile simmered somewhere in his throat, but he swallowed it down, down with the smell of rot and death and agony agony agony

his teeth felt too sharp. his hands felt like blades. he was destruction he was death he was ruin. the earth was cracked and lifeless under his body stained with red drenched in red drowned in red

red. his coat is red. with that much of a waypoint he stops. his sword is red. he forgot to clean it. it is still his.

his limbs are all still his

but

his heart thunders loud in his ears, his head, the world screaming at him, the earth screaming vengeance judgement retribution

it screams it screams it's a gasping thing it's a wail a howl a long long cry and

 

oh

he thinks      he understands  
why leonardo prays      though he doesn't believe.

he thinks he's going to throw up.

he does not.

instead, edward struggles to his feet and _breathes_. it is a strange, hitching shudder, the air disgusting in the aftermath. he does not remember how long he’s lain there like a corpse. precious little of the blood seeping through his shirt is his. he had   collapsed.

why?

axe. there was an axeman. a wheeze passes his lips. there's a dim sense of surprise when he puts a hand to his chest and it doesnt come away with splinters of bone, squishy body fat, more flesh than he ever registers there.

pity.

or not.

is it?

he is  
        is  
           is  
              alive.

he is death.

he is alone.

breathing this      rancid, terrible air      alone.

he’d been     left for dead?

wouldn't be the first time.

 

but wouldn't leonardo have come for you?

 

he    would

 

he’s probably beside himself with worry, right now.

 

so    where    is he

he staggers, the world tips.

where  
is  
he.

breath rattles in his bones, rots in his lungs.

where is he.

parting red sea red sea dirt and flesh and offal

his legs are stiff and heavy.

slow.

feet drag through the bog, cold hands brushing his ankles in casual greeting

 

hello,  
hello miss,  
how do you do.

 

crack

a wrist breaks under his boot. he thinks he hears a scream. he grinds his foot down, for good measure.  
hard rubber over leather, checkmate. push, push, weight of the world.

it screams in reply.

forsaken wretched monster anomaly rat

shut up shut up shut up

crunch, crunch

screaming

keep. screaming.

keep    screaming

keep screaming.

he finds

a single point of focus. narrow alleyway. shift it, brother. smash it, drive it in

again and again

smash the

it is

he is

childish delight

hideous revenge

muted disgust

pumpkin scraps seed clumps orange flesh splattered on the stone wall

a man beat to death screaming mercy mercy

white skull grey matter the thin layer of yellow between scalp and bone.

his lungs burn acid rot dust smoke

shrill, hoarse.

crack, crack, crack

squelch

the screaming the screaming

it does not stop

 

it is all you.

 

he is death.

 

boot slips in gore. he loses his footing and the world comes into focus. there are shards underfoot, thorns in his burning throat, holy bush aflame but not to ash and cinders.

aflame, aflame. breathe, gasping breath.

air fuels the fire, but here, it dies down.

tongue runs over teeth. gather foul spit. swallow it down. disgust, gag reflex. gingerly- removes his foot. what are you doing? daein’s colors.

not crimea, not begnion, not gallia, kilvas, goldoa

those are daein’s colors.

but that is not micaiah, sothe, nolan, laura, aran

leonardo

still daein’s colors.

already dead. not on him.

 

broken wrist, shattered mind.

 

not on him.

he  
swallows   thickly

moves on.

he is not dead.

camp can't be far.

he hopes the others aren't here.

dead.

fear rears its ugly head. grey eyes dimly search for fluttering scarves, great protective frame, sunshine yellow, black-and-grass-green, powder blue blue blue in the red, head of straw eyes of steel.

nothing. just daein-begnion-crimea-subhuman.

laguz.

mercy.

leonardo must be beside himself. they couldn't find him in the red.

he shouldn't’ve worn red

he likes red.

color of a

hero

daein

man

 

blood.

maybe you don't like red.

 

he likes red. cardinal.

cardinal is pretty.

daein red is

blood

home.

get home.

deep breath. he can feel himself breathe.  
deep, deep, rise, fall.

another scream bolts its way out past his lips.

i’m still here. can you hear me?

shouts, once his voice behaves.

please, come get me. i'm lost and tired and my throat hurts and i’m hearing things. i need a bath and a hug and maybe a vacation. maybe five.

maybe we should quit. this is stupid. i'm tired of losing people. aren't you tired of losing people?

micaiah, we should quit.  
sothe, we should quit.  
pelleas, we should quit.  
nolan, laura, aran, we should quit.

leonardo, quit it, cut it out.  
let’s all run away.

the night flickers. the earth spins.

 

lead the exodus, boy,  lead it loud and proud.

 

yes! we should quit.  
we should quit.

we

should

quit.

 

 

* * *

Edward wakes up- A slow drift into consciousness as he rolls over to keep the sunlight out of his eyes, only to regret it when his- Back? Sides? The hell is that? Just everything? Do you hate me that much, Miss Ashera? Whatever it is, it screams in protest. Back on his back, then. His throat feels like a thrice-damned desert, and when he tries to groan, all he does is croak.

Cracks an eye open. Two. They feel gross and sort of crusty, and he rubs at them with a (clean, bandaged) hand. Canvas walls? Healer’s tent. Someone's next to him, slumped over and breathing.

Breathing.

(breathe.)

He gulps down too much air at once and coughs, wheezes, fumbles for the water on the bedside, uncaring as to whether it was actually his or not- Drinks, greedily, tips the glass back too fast and spills some of it down his front. He hooks fingers in the front of his shirt, looks down the collar, winces and pats it closed against his collarbone again.

Oh yikes, nasty bruises. He sure does have a body! His ribs hurt, but not like they would in a more normal situation. Probably broke one. There was a guy, with a big axe, caught him on the blunt end. Definitely broken, then healed. He’s too aware of himself for this right now, yikes yikes yikes.

The dehydration-headaches starting to subside, and Edward finally cares enough to look at the person passed out at his bedside (leonardo, of course its leonardo) and slumps back against the mattress with a grunt.

Alive, check. All limbs, check. Possibly a few healed broken bones? Also check. Someone likely washed him while he was out or too delirious to remember.

He has a feeling he doesn't want to remember that… Big… Blank spot, right there in his brain. Don't think about it! It'll be fine.

(his throat feels raw.

the phantom sound of bone splinters in his eardrum.)

Yeah! He doesn't want to remember. Fever dream? Fever dream. Not that he has a fever. Edward quickly puts a hand to his forehead, to be sure. Nah. That’s fine. The less time he spends conscious, the less he’ll have to think about what happened and what he’s forgetting. A look is cast Leonardo’s way, just to make sure it's really him. Yep, that's him, and he’s gonna have a killer crick in his neck when he wakes up to nag.

He's safe.

Edward pulls the covers back up to his face again. It’s fine.

The others can tell him what he's missed when he wakes up again, and he won't need to know any more.

 

(so much red.)


End file.
